


Substitution

by silkinsilence



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:37:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2050206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkinsilence/pseuds/silkinsilence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't about Azula. It's about Azula's genes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Substitution

Her body is so small. Horribly, horribly small. It’s very easy to remember that she’s a child, that she’s breakable, that her bones could snap and her skin could burn at the slightest touch. These reminders are unwelcome; they disturb the fantasy.

But on the other hand, they are intoxicating. He remembers other skin that yielded easily to his hands. He remembers turning another body purple and red, a more mature form, a woman who regularly shared his bed before the monster awoke inside of him. She was fragile too. He would suck her neck and relish the sounds she made underneath him. Even when he held her hips only lightly, his fingers would leave bruises. His touch is deadly. He hurts things he cares about. A long time ago this bothered him. Now it has been too long for him to remember why. There is only the present, only what he is doing, not what he has done. Reminiscence is idle. The past cannot influence him any longer.

He affixes his hands to her shoulders and clamps down. There will be bruises, but he doesn’t care. She will continue to perform regardless of how much he hurts her. She will cover the bruises and in time they will fade, and he will always leave a new set to replace the old ones.

Repentance is far from his mind when he feels himself nearing a peak. His own grunts drown out the small noises she makes, but he can always hear her nonetheless. He is always listening. She always tries to keep as quiet as possible. She never speaks and attempts to be completely silent. It brings him a vicious pride to know that she cannot be silent when he is on top of her. Her noises are different from those of his previous companion. She lets out short, sharp gasps of pain. She hisses. She used to cry out frequently. She has learned that he does not like that.

He misses throaty moans and begging, the lusty sounds of his wife enjoying the sweet torment he used to bestow upon her. Maybe one day this one will grow up. Maybe one day he will hear the sounds again.

His hands and fingers are vices on a tiny waist. He digs in as deep as he possibly can. His fingers—no, his whole body is searing hot against her, but he does not waste his time wondering whether he will leave a mark. He can feel fire building up in his throat and it comes out of his mouth as a dam bursts somewhere in him. Restraint is forgotten and he pushes her into the sheets, not caring if she is fragile, not caring if she is breakable—

"Father-! It hurts!"

He does not see fear flash in her eyes as soon as the words leave her lips. His ears and mind are stuck on the words, jarring notes in an otherwise beautiful symphony. He does not want that reminder. He does not want to disturb the fantasy. He wants her to take the pain with a closed mouth. He wants her to make the right noises and feel the right way under his fingers.

But that is the price he paid, and now he makes do with a substitute. She is far more convincing than any common whore would be, and she rarely complains. He rewards her with a kiss and sends her on her way, taking a few final seconds to admire the pattern of bruising across her fragile skin.

When she is gone, his thoughts return to someone else once more.


End file.
